Worth A Censure
by redtrouble
Summary: ADA Barba has a private moment with Anna Dobra, a temporary detective assigned to SVU.


**Note:** I'm a long-time SVU fan, although the newest seasons have really disappointed me. ADA Barba is the only thing I love about them. He has somehow soared past Novak to become my favorite ADA and one of my favorite characters. Please allow me some leniency as I get this little obsession out of my system. : )

* * *

"Okay, that's enough," ADA Rafael Barba said as he threw his pen and notepad onto his desk. He looked at Sergeant Benson and her detectives lounging haggard in his office. "Go home. Get some sleep. We'll start fresh in the morning."

Without any verbal goodbyes, only farewell nods, they filed out. All except one: Detective Anna Dobra, on loan from another precinct due to Manhattan SVU's squad being so short-staffed. She had been with them for half a year and had proved more than capable. Her work was exemplary and she meshed well with the team. His opinion? Professionally, she was an asset. Personally, he couldn't take his eyes off her.

When he first saw her, he thought she was pretty. She was an inch shorter than him, slim, fit. She had wavy, mahogany hair, green eyes, and a dimple in her chin. Just like Bensen and Rollins, he thought, "Cute," if not young. He assumed she was inexperienced and then was later angry at himself for assuming. One must never assume. She was smart. She was witty. She was subtle. And when she smiled, he was floored.

Barba waited for the door to close, his eyes narrowing on the woman. He tapped his lips thoughtfully as he waited for her excuse but it never came.

"Detective," he said, amusement hedging his tone. "Was there something else?"

She hesitated looking at him like a child in trouble. Her eyes roved the case files spread out on the table with one hand on her hip while the other mussed the back of her hair. Finally, the silence and the question hanging unanswered within that overbearing silence got the better of her and she made eye contact. He raised his brows expectantly.

"This case," she started, "it's too much. I keep thinking there's something I'm not seeing. That it's," her fingers clawed over the open files and scattered papers, "right there, staring up at me and… I'm just… standing here. Like an idiot."

"Maybe," he said. "It's late." Go home, that's what he should've said. But he didn't. He didn't want her to go home. They were alone in his office and he wanted it to stay that way just a little longer. "You're tired. Sleep might help you see what it is you're not seeing."

She immediately shook her head. "I wouldn't sleep." She sighed and ran her fingers through her hair. As her face became momentarily clear, he saw the circles under her eyes, the exhaustion and frustration, the torment. He understood her suffering on an intellectual level and, to some extent, an emotional one. But he couldn't get caught up in the same whirlwind the detectives did. He had to accept his losses with his wins and somehow find a way to sleep at night—something she clearly did little of.

Barba looked down at his notes, picked up his pen, dropped it again. He tried to think of something to say to comfort her. It had been her first case as lead detective with the squad. He understood why it was the hardest. And yet all he kept thinking of was her smile.

"I'm sorry. You're right," she said and reached for her coat. "It's late. I should get out of your hair."

"Detective," he stopped her as she reached for the door. He pulled a bottle of scotch and two tumblers from his desk drawer. He poured two fingers and slid the glass toward her. She stared at it and then at him for a moment before dropping her coat across the nearest chair and claiming the drink. He poured one for himself and took a sip.

"Thanks," she said quietly. He shrugged.

"You've been a detective long enough to know how this goes. You win some, you lose some. Getting hung up on every case will take you down a dark road."

"I know. I just want to get this guy. I keep seeing that boy's face… right before he died. He told me he didn't want to go back to that place. That he was scared." She shook her head. "I shouldn't have let him—"

"There was nothing you could do," he interrupted her. She tipped the tumbler back and took a gulp. He lifted his brows.

"I know."

She said it but they were just words without conviction. She didn't really believe it. She set the scotch down and paced away from his desk, glancing at the files as she walked past the table and then immediately away as if seeing them again was too much. She started stretching, brought her leg up behind her. Yoga. That's right. She had been called in on a day off and was wearing yoga pants and carrying a mat. He had enjoyed that day and those pants.

"Do you actually buy into that 'cow jumped over the moon' shtick or is it just fitness to you?" he snapped. The realization that he had probably offended her hit him the second the words left his mouth but he couldn't stop himself. The aggravation at wanting her that much and knowing he could do nothing about it made him angry.

And then miraculously she laughed, held her fingers to her lips to hide the smile. He wished she wouldn't.

"No. It's just for health. To be honest, I don't buy into things like that."

"Things like… that," he echoed with a hint of a smile. When she met his eyes, he took an innocent sip of his scotch, pretending he wasn't trying to pry into her life.

"You know, spiritual energies, mysticism, voodoo, fortune telling—I can't even get behind feng shui," she explained. Barba couldn't help himself. He laughed out loud. "I heard all the jokes growing up."

"Jokes?" He thought of what he knew about her, which wasn't much. That meant whatever it was that bothered her was obvious even to someone as unfamiliar with her personal life as he was. Her name. "Dobra," he said and let it hang so she would know he didn't understand the surname's origin.

"I'm Romanian," she answered his unasked question. "My grandparents moved to the States when my dad was just a baby. I was born and raised right here in the city but it didn't stop anyone from asking me to tell their future."

"I see," he said and smiled thoughtfully. "So don't ask you for the lottery numbers."

This time when she laughed, she didn't hide it. "It would be nice, right? To tell the future." Her eyes flickered with pain. "To know without a doubt—"

"There is no doubt," Barba interrupted her seriously. "But there's a difference between knowing something and having the facts to prove it." He stood up. "You and I know he's guilty. A jury doesn't. So we prove it." He walked around his desk. "It boils down to one thing: do you trust me to prosecute this case to the best of my ability? Because I will. I can't promise you a win but I can promise that I will take everything we have to the jury and I will show them what a monster this man is. Seeing is up to them."

She nodded. "I know you will. You're a good guy, Barba. You're one of the best." She half-smiled. "Maybe _the_ best."

He snorted a laugh at her flattery to show her he didn't believe it but appreciated the sentiment. Inside, he still didn't believe it but he more than appreciated it. It made him warm and excited and frustrated. He put his hands in his pants pockets to contain some of his energy. She was so close. Just a few feet away.

"I trust you," she said somberly, and he sensed a double meaning. She _did_ trust him _but_…

"You don't trust yourself," he concluded. She glanced at him and then looked away, stared at the table of evidence in frustration. "You have no reason to doubt yourself, Detective. Whatever it is you think you're not seeing is just your own guilt at this boy's death. But trust me when I say you have nothing to feel guilty for." Barba crossed over to her, stood so close that he felt her arm against his chest. "You're not thinking objectively because it hurts, but you can't save them all, Detective. Anna." She opened her mouth to say something but he stopped her. "And I'm not thinking objectively." Standing this close to her had been a mistake. "Because I can't stop thinking about you."

She turned to look at him and he barely caught a glimpse of her wide-eyed surprise before he kissed her. He stayed there against her mouth, breathed in through his nostrils, brows furrowed in fear at crossing the line and relief that he had done it and pleasure because it felt so wonderful. In her shock, she didn't push him away and, when he moved his lips against hers ever so slightly, she responded—or maybe he just thought she did.

Had he crossed the line? He prosecuted cases like this all the time. He wanted her to the point of losing control. Against his better judgment, he capitalized on an opportune moment, took advantage of their privacy and her vulnerable state. He had given her a drink, preyed on her need for relief. He wasn't her superior directly but her office worked for his. It wouldn't take a prosecutor to make the leap that a boss was taking advantage of an employee.

At least, that's how he would argue this whole affair at trial if the woman in question happened to cry assault. He could frame this as assault. And that should have been the red flags of warning that told him to back off immediately, to apologize, but he didn't. He saw them and kept going. Because perspective was at the heart of everything. And from his perspective, he was an assistant district attorney with romantic and probably unrequited feelings for a detective, confident in the courtroom but lacking in his personal life. One didn't turn out as cynical as he was without some pain and betrayal along the way. He had his powers—influence, intelligence, wealth. He was charismatic in the asshole-that-you-hate-yet-love kind of way. But he was short. He wasn't incredibly fit. He could say he wasn't bad looking, but could he call himself handsome standing next to someone like Amaro?

So for her, he would argue a prick boss assaulting his detective because he couldn't get it any other way. For himself, he would argue a socially awkward man who meant no harm when he bucked up the courage to kiss this beautiful woman he was enamored with. That was assuming it ever went to trial. What if, instead, he had destroyed their relationship? What if she refused to be alone with him, to make eye contact, and things were awkward forever? What if she transferred out to avoid him? Fear at the possibilities churned his stomach. And yet… he was locked in the moment. In spite of the pessimism, he couldn't stop. His head was in the fog of her mouth and how good it felt.

"If you want this to stop," he whispered against her lips with an aching hunger, "you'll have to stop me."

He kissed her again, this time more intimately, and reached for her, to hold her against him, and was shocked when she pushed him back. He stared at her wide-eyed, the realization hitting him like a brick. Stupid. He was so stupid. She grabbed him by his shirt and pushed him up against the wall. He held his arms away from her to avoid any further violation as he gaped at her in miserable regret. She was frowning as she looked at him but he couldn't read her expression. All he knew was that he had made a mistake. He needed to apologize. He needed to make it right. But the words weren't coming.

Suddenly she was kissing him with a passion he had been feeling since he saw her smile the first time. He wrapped his arms around her, pressed her body against his, and lost himself in her mouth. He wrapped her leg around his hip, turned them around, put her back against the wall, and groaned as her fingers combed through his hair, taking excited fistfuls as she pulled him closer.

He could barely believe this was happening. When she hung back in his office, he thought that—at most—they would talk a moment longer about the case and then she would go home. In the back of his mind, he could hope for more, but Barba was a realist. Never. Never in his wildest imagination did he think this might actually happen. But here they were, clinging to each other. Here she was… with her tongue in his mouth. And here he was with just a few thin layers of cloth between him being buried inside her.

She broke away from his mouth to trail kisses down his neck and he sighed hotly. She slipped one finger through his necktie and loosened it before lifting her lips to his ear.

"I think you should lock the door, Counselor," she whispered.

No. No, it shouldn't be this way. He didn't want to fuck her on his office couch like he was too horny to take her back to his place. But he _was_. The task of composing himself long enough to get her home felt impossible. And what of the perception? Screwing her after hours like some secret affair? But she was. He was an ADA and she an NYPD detective. He prosecuted her cases. This fraternization could get them both in trouble. What they were doing _was_ all wrong but it didn't feel wrong so he didn't want to act like it was wrong.

But he took one look at her flushed face, wet lips, and heated gaze… and he locked the door. When he turned back around, she pulled her shirt over her head and tossed it onto the floor. His lips twitched into a smile as he slipped his tie off, wrapped the strip of silk around her neck, and pulled her back into his mouth. She pushed his suspenders off his shoulders and unbuttoned his shirt. It didn't take long for them to completely undress each other. They claimed the couch in a hot and hungry frenzy, driven entirely by desire. It had been a long time since Barba had opened up to someone to that degree of vulnerability but she didn't abuse him.

"Rafael," she moaned, and his ego swelled, his insecurities diminished, and his chest tightened.

"Anna," he whispered hoarsely as he chased their pleasure.

Once they were both sweaty and satisfied, Barba pulled his pants on. He was a little embarrassed for the way the affair had started but nothing could take away his pleasure at how events had unfolded. He watched as Anna slipped into his dress shirt that was much too big for her. She hugged the wrinkled fabric as though she found comfort in it because it was his. Then, she picked up his tie and fingered the striped, pink silk.

"I like this tie." She raised a brow at him. "I always thought it looked good on you."

He smiled briefly, sat down, and looked at the carpet. "I'm," he cleared his throat, hesitant to go forward, "sorry if this wasn't something you were prepared for or if you felt pressured—"

"I wanted this," she interrupted him. When he gave her eye contact, she smiled. "Now tell me what this is."

"Pardon?"

"You knew the rules and you broke them. I just want to know what you broke them for. A one-night stand you finally got out of your system? An after work relationship defined by casual sex? Or is there something more to it? Normally I wouldn't be so quick to ask but we work together so I think the lines we draw should be clear."

Barba nodded. He couldn't argue with that at all. He rested his elbows on his knees and took a long moment to gather his thoughts. Continuing a relationship of any kind could damage both of their careers. It would be stupid to do anything other than end it. And yet, one glance at her and he knew there would be no way he could stop himself from wanting to touch her again. So, if they proceeded as normal and happened to have casual sex on occasion, then… they would still be breaking protocol but it would be less likely they would get caught. However, should she have casual sex with anyone other than him, he wouldn't handle it well. And yet… the law was clear. There was only one way this could possibly go, regardless of what he wanted.

"Without knowing your feelings," he began carefully, "and with the inescapable knowledge of the consequences, I—" He stopped himself to mentally reaffirm his decision. A one-night stand. That's all it was. "—I want more," he said and looked her in the eyes. "However, if you do not find this amenable, I would be open to the other options. I guarantee you that, regardless of what is decided, my personal feelings will not bring our professional relationship to trial."

"You know, when I first met you, I thought you were an asshole. A typical, arrogant lawyer who only cared about his win average, not justice. That first case I worked was a tough one. You were hesitant so I didn't trust you. But I attended the trial and I watched you use that arrogant attitude to rip holes in the defense you could fly a plane through. You won a guilty verdict on all counts without breaking a sweat. I was impressed. I realized… you aren't typical at all. You're one of the good guys."

"I'm still an asshole."

"Yeah," she agreed with a smile, "but an asshole I was suddenly and intensely attracted to."

His brows lifted in surprise. "Really? After that first case?"

"Mhm." Anna slid off the couch and onto her knees, slipped between his legs, wrapped his tie around his neck and pulled him close. "I want more, too," she murmured and kissed him.

"We'll have to be careful."

"I know."

"We could lose our jobs."

"I know."

"It won't be easy."

"Are you trying to talk yourself down, Counselor?"

"No, I—" He laughed at himself. "I'm panicking."

"This is you panicking?" she asked and quirked one eyebrow. "Even your panic is composed." He laughed again, maybe even blushed. She laid her head on his thigh and closed her eyes. "A smart, handsome, successful ADA. In what world would you see me?"

He bent down and whispered in her ear, "I couldn't take my eyes off you."

When Barba left his office that night, he did so with a lighter step and a smile on his face that he couldn't erase. Maybe this would end horribly for both of them. Maybe it would end amicably. Or maybe it wouldn't end at all, just evolve into something worth the censure. He didn't know and he wasn't going to think about it. All that mattered was that, for the moment, they were together. And he was happy.


End file.
